


ninety-nine gold coins

by milkvan



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Gen, Past Character Death, past!seokwoo, svt 96z
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 14:28:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10492884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkvan/pseuds/milkvan
Summary: wonwoo thinks he's the bag of ninety-nine gold coins. soonyoung thinks not.





	

**Author's Note:**

> was originally written for soonwoonet's theme of "friends" but things spiraled out of control. wELP.
> 
> the basic plot and the story are from the hk drama "天与地 When Heaven Burns"

Home is where Xuanyi waits for him, where they talk about everything under the sun at the dining table, and where the domesticity of married life soothes away the storms whirling in his head after a long day at work.

But when his wife has gone to sleep and the house is filled with silence as stifling as the ocean waters, he sits outside on the balcony with his legs perched on the railings. The only companions he allows during this time are the bottle of wine and the baritone voice spilling out of the old radio. 

“Once, there was a rich man who couldn’t stand the fact that a lowly cook could live a happier life than him. So, he left a bag of gold coins on the steps of the cook’s door one night. When the cook found the bag, he was euphoric and poured the coins out, counting them one by one. Strange, there were only ninety-nine gold coins? Where did the last one go? His whole house was searched from bottom to top, side to side, and yet he could not find the last gold coin. As if his heart was pinned to the missing coin, he grew unhappy and sought any way to earn enough money to complete a full set of hundred gold coins. 

The cook knew that his brother possessed a gold coin, but also knew that it was all the brother had left. The two brothers once shared a close relationship and shortly after their parents passed away, the cook willingly held his brother’s hand every night to chase away the nightmares that plagued the younger one. 

But all these now meant nothing to the cook. In a moment of greed, he ruthlessly schemed with outsiders to cheat his brother of the coin.

Greed and the pursuit for wealth have the power to bury our conscience, till the point where we can abandon and betray the people closest to us, without an ounce of hesitation. A rich man used ninety-nine gold coins to draw out the monstrosity greed in a person; while one gold coin caused the cook to betray his closest kin. 

In our society and in our lives, what actually is this bag of ninety-nine gold coins? The call for pragmatism, efficiency, and progress that our government constantly drills into us since young? The many years we spent in schools and tuition centres trying to search for our place in the world, but ending up like cookies cut out from the same mould? Or the loss of a good friend? 

Can we safely say that our life is safe from the temptation of the ninety-nine gold coins, that our conscience is truly clean of the taint that is the one gold coin? Or that we ourselves weren’t the bag of coins in someone else’s life?”

 

 

The Chinese dessert store is surprisingly crowded at this time of the night, filled with couples and office workers looking for a different sort of sweetness after dinner. It’s incredible how the slight breeze blowing through their hair still carries the saccharinity of sugar syrup and soya milk, but Soonyoung is glad for the breath of fresh air as they sit at one of the tables outside.

The owner of the store lays down the bowls of soya beancurd, warm and inviting, between them on the table with profuse apologies for making them wait. It is instinctive on Soonyoung’s part to sprinkle brown sugar onto the smooth milky surface and smash the beancurd into white debris before he stirs the contents of the bowl evenly into the sugar syrup. But for Wonwoo, who only does whatever he sees Soonyoung doing, the taste of this particular dessert is apparently not to his liking, and he grimaces as the syrup drowns his taste buds in sickly sugariness. A hearty, genuine laugh escapes from Soonyoung and it’s a laugh he has been gradually recovering since meeting Wonwoo, Junhui, and Jihoon again after the long fifteen years of separation. 

“Shouldn’t we have gone to a bingsoo place if you wanted dessert?” A second spoonful of the silky beancurd goes into Wonwoo’s mouth and this time round, he nods in slight appreciation. 

Soonyoung shrugs, realizing that he wasn’t thinking much when he asked to meet Wonwoo here tonight, instead of the pub they usually frequented with the other two. “Xuanyi likes this place because it reminds her of her hometown, and I guess it has become our shared favourite place too. Besides, too much cold food and drinks aren’t good for your throat.”

The face Wonwoo pulls at this moment is achingly familiar to Soonyoung and yet, strange to see, especially considering that the best of their youth has already passed them by, leaving nothing but regrets ringing their irises and the lines of their indifference streaking their faces. “Oh, don’t use that tone of voice with me, Kwon Soonyoung. You’re only a month older than me and there’s no reason why you should be as nagging as an ahjumma.” 

It’s hard to believe that the voice imbued with a slight childish whine is also the same one that blesses the airwaves in the secret hours between night and dawn, bringing with it a sort of collective nostalgia and longing for the city’s simpler days. But it’s easy to believe that despite the older eyes and the matured facial features, the man sitting in front of him is the same boy he once had a crush on, dragging up the memories of their simpler days – days that vanished with the wind when said boy walked out of his life fifteen years ago. 

The cigarette tucked between Wonwoo’s fingers lights up and wisps of smoke frame his face under the store’s porchlight. Suddenly, the last traces of their boyish innocence Soonyoung had been quietly and selfishly seeking in Wonwoo disappear, and there is only the bitter taste of his foolishness left to swallow. Amidst a world constantly shifting, it is foolish to believe that at least one person would remain unchanged, dangerous to hold on to slippery memories, like a person lost at sea and desperately grasping a thin wooden board for survival.

Jihoon sealing his passion for music in a tattered cardboard box and leaving it on the corner of the streets, while burying himself under mundane paperwork in the office? The once bashful Junhui putting on the greatest act of his life and exchanging marriage vows with someone he doesn’t love, all in a grand scheme to gain her family’s tremendous wealth? No matter how much his friends had changed for the worse, Soonyoung can always close an eye and sweep everything under the carpet, because truthfully, he’s no better and it’s easier to justify the things they have done with a clichéd “the earth continues to turn on its axis, people continue to wake up a different person each day”.

But now, the sight of these small, noticeable changes in Wonwoo is hard to bear and weighs down on Soonyoung’s heart. Something as trivial as a lighter sitting beside the bowl has become far greater than any of them can control, wielding not only flame but also the vivid, heavy representation of all the years the four of them have missed out on each other. 

An infinity of alternative outcomes and possibilities burns up in the amber tips at the end of the cigarette, while another infinity lies blackened in the ash tray but both echoing the same questions. What if they have never gone up the mountain? What if things had turned out differently, and there were five of them here, not just four? _What if?_

“You didn’t use to smoke.”

If the unnecessary comparison was just shrugged off, if Wonwoo remained unapologetic, then maybe the thick layers of guilt coating their hearts for so long would finally be dusted off. But as it is, Jeon Wonwoo – the boy who was as stubborn as a mule in his quiet, stoic way, the resolute one who clung to each of them, and the very reason why they were brought together in the first place – merely kept his gaze levelled on the dying embers, seemingly allowing the force of fifteen years to wash the persistence and convictions of his youth away. 

(Of course, Soonyoung knows that it is never as simple. What is fifteen years to someone who was at times furious at the world, but for the most part, remaining impervious to the many times life tried to break their dreams and knock the wind out of them?

There is only one person who could affect Wonwoo in the greatest and in the smallest of ways; always had been from the beginning and always will be.) 

“I only do it occasionally, when I think of Seokmin.” 

There is an understandable edge or a sort of rawness to Wonwoo’s hushed voice when he speaks up, but nonetheless, Soonyoung is grateful for the honesty. All these years, without each other by their sides, there was never really anyone they could truthfully speak to about Seokmin, and the grief left unsaid could still be felt in every word uttered, in the solace they seek in each other. What is even more palpable is the gaping hole of Seokmin’s absence taking permanent residence in Wonwoo’s heart, and the other three know better than try to deny or fill it. 

“Funny how he’s been gone for so long and I still imagine him doing the things we do, like reminding Jihoon to eat or sitting here fretting over Junhui. He could be here but his heart wouldn’t be, because he would be more worried about the other two, don’t you think so?” Wonwoo shakes his head while hiding a small smile, as if Seokmin is really present here with them both, but the illusion soon fades and the tinge of longing in his smile is already indicative of the irrevocable truth. 

Perhaps in a lot of ways, Seokmin has become something each of them carry in their heart, and will continue to do so for the rest of their life. As a burden or a cherished memory, who can actually tell or decide for them?

Soonyoung doesn’t speak immediately, choosing to weigh his words carefully – a huge contrast to the impulsive guitarist fifteen years ago, who shoot his mouth off at every little thing that frustrated him and who usually was the first to get into an argument with Jihoon.

(Perhaps Wonwoo isn’t the only one to be changed by Seokmin.)

“What actually happened between Junhui and Sujeong, whether he really schemed with her sister to cheat her of her shares in their company, or what sort of person her sister really is – all these have nothing to do with us.” 

The gaze levelled on him is one of exasperation, as if Wonwoo is reminded of a similar conversation they had a few days ago in the pub. “Then what about Junhui?”

“The last time he met us, he already stated very clearly that he doesn’t want us involved in this. Maybe all he needs is for us to respect his privacy. As his close friends, we might not be happy with his wishes but what else can we do? We have said all we needed to say and we have done all that can be done. He’s a grown man and surely, there are certain things he knows better than us. Leave him alone for the time being and allow him to figure out what he wants to do next. Alternatively, if that is really what you prefer to do, you can continue to bother him or whatever you feel is the right thing. But there’s no need to shoulder the responsibility of solving the problems in their marriage, or worse, feel like you’re to be blame for everything he has done.” 

Soonyoung’s words were blunt, his tone maybe a tad harsher than he intended, and experience has taught him that such a combination would not go down well with any of them four, particularly Jihoon and Wonwoo. Sure enough, the man sitting opposite him looks away with furrowed brows and eyes growing angry. But it isn’t anything he hasn’t expected since asking Wonwoo out for desserts; after all, a friendship close to twenty years has afforded him a familiarity with the other’s temperament and stubbornness, especially when it comes to their friends.

“The three of us care deeply for you. Likewise, we feel the same for Seokmin.” There is no easy way of phrasing what Soonyoung is about to say and the heaviness of his words tip his head down. “That day… when we couldn’t bring Seokmin back alive, you never said a word and we know, we’re grateful that you have never held us responsible for what happened. Still… it doesn’t mean that we have never once blamed ourselves for his death.”

It’s harder to continue when Wonwoo’s gaze returns to Soonyoung, immediately softened and forgiving at the mention of the tragedy years ago. Forgiveness is not what Soonyoung is seeking at this moment or thinks he should ever deserve, but the chance to be truthful in front of Wonwoo is.

“Regardless of what happened, when a good friend is lost and when a person continues to live with the guilt and the grief, that person might, in the end, allow these feelings to change the way he sees the world or his way of living. How he lives his life from then on, becomes his own decision to make, and no one else should feel accountable for his choices. So even if Junhui still can’t let go of his feelings for you, even if he harbours a tiny hope of rekindling something with you while knowing that it’s impossible between the two of you… you are definitely not the bag of ninety-nine gold coins.” 

For a few moments, silence is all that remains between them as the noise from the crowds and the traffic on the streets washes over them. The white dregs of their dessert sit at the bottom of the bowls, long abandoned by the two, and an irrational fear creeps up Soonyoung’s back. He remembers the impenetrable silence that hung like an ominous dark cloud over them after every argument in the band room, the countless bickering and disagreements that always seemed more raging in the midst of five adolescent boys; some he has forgotten, a few he still recalls vividly, and many others he would rather exchange for happier memories.

If he says he isn’t constantly fearful of the exact moment Wonwoo would walk out of their lives again, if the thought of their friendship ending up broken and fragmented doesn’t scare him, then he is the biggest liar out of them all. And as it is, only God knows the amount of lies that slip through Junhui and Jihoon’s lips daily. (He has an inkling that there is only one person in the world the other two wouldn’t dare lie to – that person being Kwon Soonyoung.)

Wonwoo’s shoulders lift in a deep heaving sigh but he sits up straighter, as if a huge weight has been taken off his shoulders. The corners of his lips no longer tip downwards, and the murky cloud of worry and guilt finally clears from his eyes, accentuating the boyish brownness in his irises. 

Once a haunting memory of the things he could not hold on to, the first time he met the bespectacled klutz outside the neighbourhood bakery is now a reminiscence Soonyoung is able to smile at. Their hands are empty but he could still recall the feel of the old CD-Walkman cradled in their hands, still could hear the rhythmic thuds of their favourite pop-rock songs crash against his ear drum as they shared a pair of earphones. He’s pretty sure Wonwoo is reminded of the same scene too, their smiles a reflection of each other’s while their minds dwelled on the past, and a thoughtful and pondering stillness settles around them – the kind that can only be found in the company of old friends.

Just before Wonwoo leaves for the radio station, he lights up another cigarette. This time round, Soonyoung neither stops him or says a word, allowing the smoke to accompany them, like a poor substitute of someone they used to know very well.

(“What do you think would have become of us if Seokmin was still here?” 

“Definitely not as fucked up as we are now.”

“Or we could be more fucked up than we already are.” The cigarette is gently tapped over the sigh of the ash tray and falling ashes join many blackened others. “Who is to say for sure?”)

 

 

“Human beings are such strange creatures. 

Each one of us is an independent entity, and yet we are constantly influenced by each other as we unconsciously grow, change, mature, and adapt. But in many ways, how we change and adapt to this society actually differs from one person to another. Each day, the choices we make cause us to take different paths; one moment we might be walking down the same road but in the next moment, you might be on another, leaving me with nothing but a silent wave of goodbye. 

“People will change, the whole world is changing every second” – a convenient excuse we blanket ourselves under when the bosom friends of our yesterdays become mere strangers in our tomorrows, when old buildings soaked with our memories disappear and replaced by tall metallic giants. This is a city which forgets more than it remembers, where we constantly have to relearn its streets and buildings. Are people not the same? I understand there will come a day when I won’t be able to recognize this city or the people I used to know intimately, and it’s hard to face this palpable reality of change. But I must, as dictated by this society.

Yet, I find myself wondering. Wondering whether you will stubbornly hold on to the disappearing convictions and innocence of the friends who once believed in the same dreams as you, who fought alongside you to keep these dreams alive, or choose to forget it all. Wondering if there is still anything that is worth our persistence now? In a city whose façade changes faster than the blink of an eye, I’m afraid to voice these questions. Or should I say, I’m afraid of the answers I will find in your silence.

The song I’ll be sharing next is a simple demo with no title or accompanying lyrics. It has never been performed on stage, played on the radio, or even sent to a single record company. There is nothing special about the melody, nothing surprising in the tempo, but it’s important to me because four of my closest friends wrote it a long time ago. 

There are many things that come to my mind when I think of those days, but especially this song and _you_ who wrote it. Maybe in this world now, I’m the only one who still remembers. But I hope I’m not.”

The voice fades and replacing it is a simple tune played on the electric guitar, with the basic chords strummed on the acoustic guitar. Outside, the streets are quiet and the city seems to hold its breath as it listens and waits. 

 

 

(It has been a long day for Wonwoo. Right after his show ended for the night, he went straight into editing the recordings he had been collecting from his overseas trips. Though his aching shoulders and back longed for his bed’s sinking softness, he gladly grabbed at anything that could take his mind off things for a moment.

The thick headphones cut him off from the world and he tried to immerse himself once again in the sounds of Hong Kong’s nightscape – the quick succession of shrill cries from the traffic lights, the trams chiming softly whenever they approach a stop, and the quiet lapping of waves washed against Kennedy Town’s tiny harbour. But for some reasons, these resonances of another city’s nostalgia cluttered his mind more than ever and he’s unable to concentrate, not when his heart’s too busy rewinding the cassette tapes of his own wistfulness.

“ _Venting your frustrations on a piece of innocent machinery isn’t going to help, hyung!_ ”, he can already hear Hansol grumbling into his ears the next day. So, it is with a heavy sense of surrender and helplessness that he decides to leave the task into the younger boy’s skilful hands, scrawling a very concise list of instructions and requirements on a post-it note. 

By the time he leaves the radio station, it is close to the ungodly hour of four in the morning when the crew on the night shift are long gone and those on the morning shift are still sleeping soundly in their beds. Resounding thuds from his boots follow one after another in the hushed corridors and deserted lift lobby, but the thoughts echoing in his head are louder.

Guilt drives people to an inescapable corner, pulling them down paths that could and should have been avoided, but it was his grief that caused him to run from all that reminded him of Seokmin. And now, despite Soonyoung’s words, it’s still hard not to feel that he was the one who plunged all of them into this murky, messy swirl of echoing repercussions from a mistake years ago. If he had stayed, then possibly all of them would have been able to move on, maybe they would not end up circling each other with guilt trailing after them or like chains shackling their feet.

But perhaps, life is kinder to him now because there’s another surprise waiting for him outside the building. 

Three cars parked on the pavements, three guys standing before him with varying facial expressions and body gestures painting their pretence of nonchalance, as if he can’t see through their act, as if he hasn’t been friends with them for the past twenty years.

“I just finished a huge project, and wanted to grab some breakfast before heading home to sleep for the next ten thousand years. Merely wondering if you guys would like to join me, that’s all.” Jihoon shrugs his tired shoulders while his hair resembles a messy mop. His tie is nowhere to be seen, possibly thrown to the back of the car, and his shirt tucks out from his pants. Wonwoo convinces himself that it’s the trick of the light from the dim streetlights, but in an odd way, he sees once again the rebellious nineteen-year-old whose fingers often twirl the drumsticks, who whirled like a storm into their lives and played like thunder on the stage. 

Soonyoung chuckles. “I’m only here because someone said he’ll be treating.” He leans against the white vehicle with hands tucked into his pockets, as sure and confident of himself as ever. This self-possession took years to build, Wonwoo knows because he was there when Soonyoung didn’t have the confidence to take the first step onto the stage, when the other constantly had doubts about his performances and had to be dissuaded from leaving the band. Soonyoung had been the first, his closest friend, the one who understood him the most, and he doesn’t think anything has changed between them now.

Always the last one to speak among the three of them, Junhui smiles (Wonwoo think, hopes that it’s genuine) and holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine, I know I have caused you guys to worry these past few days. I’m sorry and I owe you guys a meal. Eat all you want later, but make sure Xuanyi doesn’t come after me for feeding her husband unhealthy food.” There’s a sort of cheekiness glinting in his eyes that has always been there, even when geeky and thick spectacles framed his alluring gaze. But it is also true that there has always been a kind of strength and comfort to be found in his silent and unassuming presence, like the steady beats of the bass guitar in a song. 

Maybe it is true that Junhui has never stopped loving Wonwoo all these long years, maybe things might have been different for them if they hadn’t met Seokmin, or maybe he would have learned to move on if Seokmin was still here. There are endless what ifs and possible alternate outcomes clouding the memories and suddenly, the past becomes as mystifying as the future. Exhausting too, Wonwoo finds as he finally learns the wisdom behind Dr. Dylan’s words. (“ _Our memories should never be used as a means of escape. It’s a form of disrespect to yourself, the people you loved then, and the people you are with now._ ”)

He stops living in the past and gazes straight at the three men waiting for his answer, the old friends he finds again after all these years, like a miracle he doesn’t think himself deserving, or an answered prayer he didn’t know he uttered. After all, it still feels the same. Whether as foolhardy boys on the cusp of adulthood or men in their mid-thirties, searching for a reconciliation between the dreams of the youths and the rigid rules of the rat-race, they are here together once again. 

“Let’s go to the dimsum restaurant we used to go for breakfast.” Wonwoo says at last after a long moment of consideration. “It’s still there and the old grumpy ahjussi is still running it.” 

Junhui’s eyes light up in delight, Soonyoung gives a low whoop of cheer, and for once, Jihoon’s smile is wide. 

In a life of many regrets, loss, and failed struggles, at least this is something Wonwoo can be thankful for.)

**Author's Note:**

> (so just in case people are confused about the plot! basically, fifteen years ago, seokmin, jihoon, junhui and soonyoung were in their own pop-rock band when they were young. wonwoo was sort of like their manager and he was also dating seokmin. the four members of the band went up to ~some mountain~ for a last trip before they disbanded and seokmin died in an accident. this was why they went their separate ways for fifteen years before they became friends again recently.)
> 
> idk what is this. but if you want to yell at me, do so at @milksol!!!


End file.
